


Mourning

by Revelin



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Permanent Connor death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 06:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15455376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revelin/pseuds/Revelin
Summary: When Reed called him at 11 o’clock on a Wednesday night and didn't greet him with a, “Hey asshole,” Hank’s brain just stopped. He knew. He knew right away what kind of call it was. Some part of him functioned enough to get him out of bed and to the morgue, his mind nothing but static the whole way.





	Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for an art prompt and got, "Hank cleaning up Connor after work," put that in my sad brain, and drove off a cliff with it. I enjoyed doing the art so much that I wrote this for it. Find me on tumblr as comraderevelin.

Hank had retired from the DPD about ten years after the android revolution. He had not been kind to his body over the years and he’d eventually had to give up the legwork of being a detective for desk duty, which he absolutely hated. Still, he stubbornly refused to retire early for the sake of his pride, until his husband finally convinced him that there was no shame in it and he could be comfortably sitting in front of a tv drinking beer all day. 

Connor of course had kept on working for the DPD. He loved detective work and making the world a little safer. Besides, if he were home with Hank all day with nothing to occupy him, they were sure to drive each other crazy. 

When Hank finally accepted his fate, he enjoyed it for all of a few days before a problem arose. All of a sudden he acutely understood what being the homebound husband of a cop meant. When he was working with Connor, there was a level of safety that he didn't have anymore. He couldn't know where Connor was all day, what kind of danger he was in, or even when he would be home any given day. Despite knowing that Connor was an incredibly skilled detective and the best physical specimen the DPD had to offer, Hank still worried himself to death. Cyberlife and android politics had undergone drastic changes in ten years and while Connor could be fixed and updated within reason, there was no longer a supply of replacements if anything damaged him beyond repair. It took time and communication, but he and Connor eventually found even ground. Connor would err on the side of caution in the line of duty and retire relatively early, while Hank would look into the still developing technology of human to android consciousness transfer. They planned to eventually travel and generally see where life took them after that. 

Hank still worried. He usually dealt with it by sitting on the porch and yelling at kids to get off his lawn while they walked home from school. 

When Reed called him at 11 o’clock on a Wednesday night and didn't greet him with a, “Hey asshole,” Hank’s brain just stopped. He knew. He knew right away what kind of call it was. Some part of him functioned enough to get him out of bed and to the morgue, his mind nothing but static the whole way. 

Here he was. Standing in a freezing cold, sterile room at midnight. Someone, a cop, a technician maybe, had said some things to him. Something about irreparable CPU and memory damage. No live connections. System backup failures. I'm so sorry. 

Connor looked nearly the same as he did when in low power mode, completely still and far more plastic than he looked while awake. But his eyes were open, unblinking and empty. There was a hole in his forehead, a bullet wound, with messy smears of drying blue blood left over from the examination. His LED was dark. 

Hank stared quietly, even a few moments after he'd been left there alone. Finally, as he’d moved to close Connor's eyes, everything came pouring out of him. Through sobs, he cursed and howled - at Connor, at himself, and most of all at who could have done this. He clutched desperately at the sheet covering his husband and wished this wasn't real, that this could be fixed, that life could just for fucking once be fair. When his tears and voice gave out, he only felt worse. He stayed there, near fully lying across Connor's body, until Reed had to forcefully pull him away. 

Staring down at the hot cup of coffee in his hands, Hank memorized every word out of Reed’s mouth about the case. This perp knew what he was doing, knew androids, maybe even knew Connor. A sharp and achingly familiar rage, a need for justice, boiled in Hank's gut. 

Whoever did this was going to pay.

**Author's Note:**

> I outlined a whole story for this, but writing isn't my main thing, so it'll probably never see the light of day and Hank will just be sad forever. :)


End file.
